


Eton Mess

by Liadt



Category: Callan (TV), The Avengers (1960's tv), The Avengers (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lonely seeks a lady.</p>
<p>Cathy finds Steed's gone walkies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eton Mess

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the lovely lost_spook for beta-ing for me.
> 
> This is set in 1964, except I'm referring to (non-spoilery) things in 1970's Callan at the end and the criminal mastermind has come down from the late 60's. I hope this doesn't cause too much offence.

In a side alley, off the main road, Lonely was skulking. He pulled his coat more tightly around his slight frame. He’d been there for several hours and the cold chill of the evening was beginning to bite.

“Look for a lady in leather. Name of Mrs Cathy Gale. She’s not to be messed with,” Callan had said to him. “Take her to your cousin’s and I’ll meet you there. Got it?”

He had. He’d pressed for more details, but got no more than, “You’ll know when you see her.”

What bleedin’ use was that for a description? he thought. 

He was sure he had missed her, in the crowds of workers spilling down the street, towards the tube station, on their way home. The nearest he had got to finding her was when a young woman, dressed in a stripy top and pedal pushers under a leather jacket, passed by. When he said Mrs Gale’s name, she’d looked surprised. She wasn’t Mrs Gale, but said she hadn’t seen her since she’d left a motorcycle gang, after becoming pregnant. He didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t want to get involved in a turf war with bikers. At least, regular gangsters had rules. Sometimes.

There was a telephone box at the end of the street. Lonely debated with himself, whether to try and ring Mr Callan. 

Then he saw her.

He understood why Callan had given him few details. She was dressed top to toe in leather, with a long jacket over trousers and long high heeled boots. He wasn’t surprised Callan had described her as not be messed with. Men who wanted women dressed like her didn’t want the meek and mild type. She certainly had a no nonsense air, as she walked purposefully down the walkway. 

What sort of business was Mr Callan getting him into? And how was he going to get her back to his cousin’s without being spotted? She might as well have a neon sign on her head. He sighed. He’d have to take a detour, a long detour, through Soho. She wouldn’t attract any attention there. Or the Houses of Parliament. The things M.P’s got up to these days, would surely involve boots like those. But then he would be out of place.

****

Cathy Gale walked down the street. She was looking for a contact. Earlier, a man calling himself Callan had telephoned; he’d said he was a friend of Steed’s and could help her find him. 

John Steed had been missing for a week. They had arranged to meet, after he had taken one of his Aunt’s dogs for a walk. Steed hadn’t turned up. Later, she had searched Hampstead Heath and found the dog. She knew Steed lived an unconventional life, but it wasn’t normal for him not to come around with champagne and apologies by now.

The mysterious Mr Callan could be luring her into a trap. But with no leads, what choice did she have?

Lost in her thoughts, she was surprised when a shabby man, cap pulled down low, sidled up to her. 

“Mrs, Mrs,” he said.

Cathy reached into her handbag for her purse - she didn’t have time for beggars. Steed could be hurt or worse. 

“Are you Mrs Cathy Gale?”

She halted and turned to face the man. “Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”

The man’s eyes shifted, up and down, nervously, trying to avoid her cold, intelligent stare.

“Mr Callan sent me. He says to follow me and he’ll meet you. I’m Lonely, by the way, Mrs.”

“Not any more, you look frozen to me,” she said. If there was any danger it wouldn’t come from him.

****

Cathy waited in a back room, in Lonely’s cousin’s house. It was crammed, from floor to ceiling, with piles of clothes. They were largely furs, with the price tags still attached. She had declined Lonely’s offer of a seat, but he carried on arranging furs in the room. He was too nervous to keep still. His cousin wouldn’t be happy if he found unannounced guests in a house full of stolen goods.

“Do you know when Callan will be coming to meet me?” she asked, impatiently.

“About now,” he replied, his eyes flicking to the back window.

Good as promised, the sash window rose up, and a man came through, dressed in a tatty coat and hat. 

“Hello, Lonely. I see you found Mrs Gale. I told you you’d know when you saw her, didn’t I?” said Callan. He took off the Mac and trilby and swapped them for a smarter coat and scarf.

“I’m David Callan, good to meet you.”

“I’m Cathy Gale, likewise,” she said, weighing up the stranger before her. He was very non-descript, not what she had expected. “You called me to say you know where Steed is.”

“Yes, but first, Lonely, you can leave us.” Callan took out a number of notes from his wallet to pay him, for bringing Cathy. “And I mean the building, not eavesdropping in the hall.”

“But, Mr Callan, my cousin’s only letting me stay here if I look after the place and I’ve been out half the day already,” he complained, as he took the money.

Callan’s jaw tensed. “Look. Nobody’s going to nick anything with me here.”

“I know, but you ain’t met him. Suspicious he is. Even of his own flesh and blood,” he said sourly. “I ain’t got enough set by for a new gaff, if I get kicked out.”

“Alright. If he turfs you out you can kip at mine. Temporarily.” said Callan, irritated.

“Thank you, Mr Callan. I can’t stand him, the git,” said Lonely, looking pleased.

“You can stay in the bathroom. You can wash as well as sleep in it. No excuses.”

Lonely’s face fell. “I’ve told you before, I can’t help it, it’s medical.”

“Yeah, yeah, now scarper. You‘ve the funds to keep warm, in a pub, for a few hours,” Callan’s patience was running out. He spun Lonely around and gave him an unfriendly shove towards the door.

“You didn’t have to hurry him,” said Cathy, unimpressed as Lonely exited. 

“If you don’t, he doesn’t half go on.”

“Interesting as all this has been, what information do you have about Steed‘s whereabouts?”

“I’ve got a job as a salesman, selling life sized figures of soldiers, to a Doctor Haas-Bösen, to use in scaled up war games. While I was at his mansion, I caught sight of guards bringing in an unconscious Steed. Haas-Bösen said he was one of his men, who had injured himself in training. He has a private army, of sorts.”

“What happened afterwards? Is Steed all right?”

“As far as I know, he is. He’s locked up in the Doctor’s pad. And I’m not a real salesman, by the way.”

“The disguise was a giveaway. I won’t ask what your real job is. If you recognised Steed, you must be in the same line of business.”

Callan nodded his head and continued, “Playing war games has given the Doctor ideas. He’s got his little troop, but it’s not enough. He wants to improve them. He admires the English spirit, and believes Eton public school’s ideology embodies it the most. To meet his ends, he has been kidnapping ex-pupils of Eton, including Steed. We believe he has built a machine to siphon off these fine, English qualities of Empire building, to give his muscle men brains, as well as brawn. After processing the Etonians won‘t even recognise themselves in a mirror” 

“Elitist and chauvinistic - all the makings of a megalomaniac.”

“Indeed. If his device works, he plans to retake formerly British run colonies and place them under the rule of the East German government. He came over as a defector from the communists. Our section has been watching him, believing it was a cover story. And it was.”

“It’s an interesting yarn, but why are you involving me?”

“My task is to remove the doctor. What does or does not happen to Steed isn’t part of my brief. I’m good, but I won’t have time to deal with Haas-Bösen and save Steed.”

“Why are you bothered about rescuing Steed?” He sounded sincere, but she was still wary.

“He helped me, when he didn’t have to. I owe him. I know my people, they’ll pull the switch to see if the experiment would have worked. Nobody is expendable, not even the best. I know,” he said, matter of factly.

“Very well, I believe you. How can I be of help?”

****

Cathy Gale walked briskly down the corridor in Haas-Bösen’s secluded manor house. She was dressed in her fighting leathers, clutching a leather briefcase and wearing horn rimmed glasses. She had arranged to meet Haas-Bösen and Callan, to interview them about the life-sized models. The journalist disguise was an old one that delivered results, hackneyed as it was. When she reached the heavy double doors she’d been directed to, she knocked.

“Who’s there?” said an unfamiliar male voice, tinged with a pleasant, German accent.

“Mrs Gale of _Warcraft Quarterly_.”

“Come in.”

As she entered, the spacious room, she saw Callan, standing with a tall middle aged man, next to the window, behind a large, Victorian desk.

Seeing the attractive, blonde woman before him, Haas-Bösen’s eyes lit up.

“Ah, Mrs Gale. Pleased to make your acquaintance at last.”

As he spoke, she shut the doors behind her and walked up towards the two men. Cathy didn’t return the pleasantries, she was desperate to find Steed.

“Never mind the small talk. Where’s Steed?” she said, her voice harsh.

The doctor started and moved towards the ornate desk. Callan, reacting to the movement, jumped in front of him, blocking him from Cathy and bobbed down. Cathy felt her heart stop. Callan’s candour had fooled her and she’d fallen into a trap. She put her hand down, towards her boot, in the hope she could draw her gun, before Callan. He reappeared revolver in hand, pointed at her. She wasn’t quick enough.

“Put it down, Mrs Gale.”

Cathy placed her pistol on the floor. Haas-Bösen turned toward him.

“Thank you, Mr Callan. I had no idea I was in danger.”

“I did. She’s not on the staff of _Warcraft Quarterly_.”

“I can take it from here. Can you keep her covered, while I call my security?”

“There’s no need for that. I can handle the situation,” said Callan, bringing up his gun and flipping it. He then brought the butt down on to the Doctor’s head. He staggered and Callan repeated the action, until he was satisfied the German was unlikely to wake up anytime soon. 

“You can pick up your shooter,” he said from behind the desk, as he tied up the prone man with cord from his jacket. Cathy walked towards the desk.

“Can you tell me what you were playing at?” she said demanded.

“I didn’t want to give him a reason to press the button here, to call in his goons. Check the corridor. I need to phone someone, to collect Haas-Bösen, before finding Steed.”

After making the call, he came up to her standing in the doorframe. “I should have coshed him harder. He’ll wish I had, when he comes round.” he said, regretfully.

“He was planning to do who knows what to Steed and the others, or had you forgotten?” she said tersely, over her shoulder.

“I’ve found people who do bad things can have a decent side. It’s like they’re two different people. It doesn’t make my work easy.”

“Hmm.” she wasn’t interested in a discussion, only Steed. “The guards have gone away from the exit.”

“Right. We shouldn’t have any trouble, until we get to the seventh floor, where the prisoners are. The doctor’s squad are loyal to his chequebook. When they realise they’re not getting paid enough to fight, they’ll scarper.”

****

Cathy and Callan worked their way through the upper levels, leaving a trail of black clad bodies, behind them.

“This must be it.” Callan pointed to a door, framed by wires and with flashing lights, above the lintel. The ‘Top secret - keep out’ sign was a hint too. Cathy rushed up to the door’s sentry, knocking him out with a blow to the neck. Callan kicked the door in, as the heavy slumped to the floor and Cathy slid him in to the room.

The room was large. To one side, restrained in what looked like luxury electric chairs, was a row of a dozen men. On their heads were electrodes, connected to a large wardrobe sized machine on the opposite wall. Next to the computer was another of the chairs, empty and with a large dome, to fit a man’s head, over the top. Behind the two rescuers were banks of machines, containing reel to reels, which whirred and clicked, in time to flashing lights.

“Mrs Gale! How good of you to come,” Steed greeted them with his usual bonhomie. He was sitting in the chair nearest the door. “And Mr Callan, too. See, I told you we’d have no trouble getting an extra pair for our bridge tournament. We’ll need a new referee. Our old one seems to have fallen asleep.”

Cathy smiled back. “I’ve never thought of you as a bridge player.

“Well, the host gave us very little to do. I won’t be recommending this club to my friends”

As she worked on Steed’s bonds, Callan went down to free the men at the furthest end of the attic.

“Meres! What are you doing here? You’re Scottish. Haas-Bösen wanted to capture the English temperament.” he said, surprised to see his fellow co-worker.

Meres raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you know the most quintessentionally English people turn out not to be?”

“I’ve half a mind to flick the switch and see what happens”

“I predict an improvement, in the final results. If you don’t hurry up in freeing us, David, the guards will remove your brains the old fashioned way.”

“We’ve put them out of action. Fatty’s sending an ambulance round.”

“Why are you still here then?” asked Meres.

“I thought the men here would like to leave, before Snell was invited to test the contraption,” replied Callan.

“For once, I’m glad of your conscience.”

“I’ve released all the captives,” said Cathy coming up to the two agents.

“Follow me, you lot. I’ve arranged transport home.” said Callan, to the group.

****

Callan led the others through the grounds, out on to a quiet back road. He’d arranged to meet Lonely in his cab.

“Come on cabby, time to earn your fare,” he said, as he got into the front seat. “And what are you doing reading a bloody rag, you great nit? Did I tell you we were going for a picnic?” 

He snatched the newspaper out of Lonely’s hands and hit him with it. Lonely would have offered an excuse, if he hadn’t been distracted by the group trying to fit into the back of the taxi.

“They can’t all fit into the back, Mr Callan. We’ll get stopped for breaking the law,” he said, unhappily.

“It‘s either your license or ending up dead in a ditch.”

“She can sit on my knee,” he said, eyeing up Cathy.

“Mrs Gale has K.O’d several fellers, who make Wellington look like a runt today. It would be like having me sit on your lap. Do you want me to move over?”

Lonely’s face said - no, he bleedin’ well wouldn’t.

As the motor sped down the road, Callan asked, “How would you have driven anyway, with Mrs Gale in the way.”

“I’d have asked her for directions.”

“Directions!”

“Like rally drivers.”

“There’s no mistaking you’re a fan of the nags, is there? I’m getting you lessons to drive a routemaster bus, next time.”

“No thank you!”

“Why? You don’t have to bleach your hair and listen to Cliff.”

“The knowledge was hard going.”

“I got you through it didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you…It was tough. I don't want to do it.”

“Calm down. I wasn’t being serious. Can’t have you running away to Italy. Put your foot down, we‘ve got to get rid of this lot before dark.”

****

Cathy and Steed entered Steed’s flat. In an uncharacteristic display of affection, she threw her arms around him.

“I was so concerned about you, Steed.”

“I’ll have to get kidnapped more often,” said Steed, enjoying the embrace. “Does this mean a change in our relationship?”

“Don’t get any ideas because I was worried. Let’s keep it friendly,” she rebuked.

“Does your friendliness stretch to champagne?”

“I think it might,” she said, with a smile.

“Then please do the honours, Mrs Gale.”


End file.
